


Whatever It Takes(Hiatus)

by Firestaff



Category: One Piece
Genre: Corazon just wants his stabby murder child to be alive and happy, Found Family, Gen, He also wants Corazon to survive past the age of thirty, OMC just wants a good fucking childhood for once, Other, SI-OC, Shameless Fix-It of Sorts, but hell if that bastard Doflamingo isn't making that hard to accomplish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 11:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestaff/pseuds/Firestaff
Summary: Law was going to have a better childhood this time around even if he had to commit murder to do it.Otherwise known as: The Gripping and Unfortunate af SI-OC as Trafalgar Water D. Law who is determined to not have a completely shitty childhood this time around even with who he has become. Also featuring a bit of a too overprotective OMC towards his new adoptive dad who he has decidedwill not be dying, thank you very much.Canon never knew what hit it.





	Whatever It Takes(Hiatus)

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, it's me- ya boi. Been a while. SO! I recently got back into One Piece SI-OC fics, and decided I’d try a couple ideas. The main premise of it comes from the idea of body swapping, which I thought would be fun- and the idea of a really bitter person becoming someone with as shitty a childhood as his own(if not worse) and being determined to have at least ONE good childhood now that he’s got a goddamn second chance. Having a few headcanons I’m going to be shoving into this as well. If you’re looking for a ships obsessed and smut filled adventure this is not for you. This is going to be found family fluff, and the SI-OC who became Law is Demiromantic Greysexual(which won’t change) and means he probably won’t end up with anyone even when he becomes an adult. Honestly if he does it will be slow burn as fuck. This is non beta'd but damn if I'm not proud of it. Anyway, this is entirely self indulgent but I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it. xD

* * *

_Tell me how did we get here?  
__And where the fuck do we go now?  
__First I was floating through the atmosphere  
__But now I’m looking up at rock bottom_

* * *

The young man by the name of Casper woke up to his entire body being alight in pain and coldness that seemed to seep through the very tips of his extremities and to the center of his body. It all made him shake and shiver and feel all around miserable. It was caused by a fever, he was sure, and through his confusion and aches he noticed something wasn’t quite right other than that. His mind wasn’t very coherent, and every move brought yet more pain, but he grit his teeth and forced his sluggish body to cooperate. It’s not until he’s stumbled and fallen out of what he blearily recognises is some kind of wooden chest and onto a whiteness he’s sure is snow that he comes to the conclusion over some of what is coming across as wrong to him. 

Caspter’s memory may be spotty, but he sure as hell wasn’t where there was snow last he swore- he knew at least that much. When he tries to push himself up, he can’t help but blanch and tremble even worse as his blurry sight falls onto his hands. “Wha-?” There’s a dead sort of numbness on his emotions, probably caused by some type of shock, as he takes in what he can see in front of him. Sitting back down onto his ass and bringing the hands closer, he was disconcerted to find that it isn’t just his vision failing him- he’s definitely seeing a child-like pudgy hand in the place of the adult one he remembers. It’s also much too pale, with the barest of tan to it that he recognises and white splotches in a mishmash all over the skin he sees. 

The paleness to the tan is from unhealthiness, his mind tells him, but it tellingly doesn’t let him know how he knows that or _ why _he knows it as fact either. His head aches in time with his heartbeat, but it’s a less pressing issue than his entire body revolting against him. Or is it even his body? He’s in it, but he’s not a child. He’s a twenty-five year old man, at least last he checked. Or at least his memories dictate. Has he gone insane? Or lost it? Nothing is making sense. A harsher shudder wracks Casper’s body, and he’s suddenly reminded that he’s in a snowy place and it’s much too cold. On autopilot, his-(the?) body moves and he reaches into the chest he crawled out of to grasp a furry hat and then he brings it up to tug on his head.

It isn’t until he’s finished the motion and in the process of letting go that he pauses, lips tugging into a scowl as naturally as he remembered and causing a slight amount of whiplash. Casper is pretty sure what just happened was muscle memory of some sort, though he doesn’t ever remember wearing a hat often enough to have the muscle memory to put it on without thinking. It puts yet even more concrete evidence in the idea that something is _ wrong _. Scowl deepening and still shaking, he tries to ignore the perspiration growing around key parts of the body he’s inhabiting and he peeks into the chest he crawled out of. He finds an old patchwork blanket larger than he currently seems to be, which he grabs and wraps around himself. 

It doesn’t really seem to help much, and he probably shouldn’t be moving, but he’s never been anything less stubborn and he refuses to stay somewhere while as vulnerable as he currently is when he has no idea _ where _he is. Ignoring how he’s tripping over his own feet and how the edges of the gigantic blanket he’s wrapped around himself drags against the snowy ground and leaves a compressed trail in the snow, he stumbles grimly in the direction of a salty smell that he’s catching comes from- deciding to head towards it on a whim and because he has no idea which way north is. He isn’t sure how long he continues his awkward stumble, but it’s definitely long enough to make him have labored breaths and be utterly exhausted. Though if he’s honest, that could be attributed to the nasty fever he’s running and how he feels like shit. Not to mention, the time it takes to get closer to where he’s heading is enough to reorient himself enough to not trip every step he takes in this new and much too small body he’s currently inhabiting. 

A lesser and much less stubborn man than he would be panicking by this point, or even having a meltdown, but honestly Casper has seen some shit and knows that if he does that he won’t be able to get himself to continue moving. His mind is ringing a warning that he has no reason or answer for. It’s frustrating. He uses it to help keep up his stubborn determination. When he finally stops it’s in front of a seemingly endless blue with dots of white that’s he is sure is ice. The entire scene makes his face blank out, because fuck that’s the _ Ocean _and he sure as hell wasn’t near that either when he- when he what? His head gives a throb and he winces. It takes him a moment to realise he lost his own trail of thought, and if anything that’s a bad sign about the body he’s ended up with being on its last legs- if nothing else has warned him of it(which the fever most definitely has). 

Deciding to use the water for something other than making his head hurt from the impossibility of it existing, he leans closer and looks down. 

The first thing he notices is that the body he’s now inhabiting is definitely a sick child. Not in his toddler years, but a bit older. Maybe ten? He’s not sure. Casper was never good with ages and always got mistaken as a sixteen year old himself even in his mid twenties. The sickly pale skin that has the barest touches of a natural tan has the same speckles of white on it everywhere just as on his arms and hands that he had seen. Actually, now that he looks closer, he can see that there’s more white than the sickly tan. It causes those alarms to blare in his mind once, and he has to force himself to continue looking at what he’s become before he gets lost in his thought once more. 

Grey eyes, startling and much different than the brown he’s used to. They look like ice, or glaciers(like the ones he saw further out in the water from where he is), and the scowl formed across the child in said waters lips looks painfully at home. It’s still whiplash to see his scowl on this face, because weren’t children supposed to be happy little buggers and not someone with a natural bitch face like him? Except that’s how it seems to be. Unfortunate for the original owner he supposes, to have such a natural bitch face even this young. He brings up a shaking and small hand to grasp at the cheeks in the image and tugs. The ache isn’t very strong with how the body is already in so much pain, but it just proves what he suspected. He’s definitely in it- he’s feeling that like the rest of everything else. 

It isn’t until Casper has shifted his gaze onto the hat he’d not paid much attention to and put on before things come crashing down as a chill sweeps through him. He recognises this face. He shouldn’t, but he does. “Oh no.” He says, and the voice that leaves him is a child’s and as upset as he’s beginning to feel, with a desperate tinge to it he cannot keep out. It’s also as familiar as the face and hat staring back at him from the water- though the face hadn’t been recognised until the hat registered. Breathing harshly through his nose, he closes his eyes and counts to ten. He holds his breath as he does so, ignoring how the move makes him three times more dizzy and makes him begin to feel a bit nauseous as well. When he opens his eyes, the image is still there. Shifting with the waves and mocking him.

“Can I get a refund?” He asked, that childish voice cracking mid way through the sentence at the same time he feels a pain from his new lip splitting due to how dry it is. The pain was there, but numbed substantially, just like when he pulled on the cheeks of the body he’s now inhabiting. It was more of a slight sting than anything else. There is also no answer to his question, only the sound of the sea in front of him splashing around and the wind. He wants to break something, but he also knows it wont change what’s happened or what’s going on. He mentally begs for it not to be what he thinks it is, but the longer he stares at the shifting and mocking image in the water it doesn’t. Next comes the resignation, and he can’t help but feel bitterly amused that he’s going through the entire stages of grief- though he seems to have skipped anger. 

It isn’t until a few hours and enough drama to fill a TV show happens to him later that the thought of ‘oh, there’s the anger’ comes to him.


End file.
